


Running

by luckylightbulbs



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Drabble, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-15
Updated: 2012-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-16 08:29:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckylightbulbs/pseuds/luckylightbulbs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes all Dean can do is run. And sometimes someone is there at the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running

“You don’t think you deserve to be saved.”  
“I guess I'm not the man either of our dads wanted me to be.”  
“I’m just tired.”  
Bits and pieces of conversations run through his head, all jumbling together into an incoherent mess. Fucking up. That’s what he does. He doesn’t deserve to be saved. Why the fuck Cas ever pulled him from Hell…no doubt he’s regretting that choice now.  
The impala takes the turn with a squeal, so fast he can feel the G-force.  
It all seems so hopeless. Sam is soulless and couldn’t give a shit about Dean. Cas, well Cas has his own problems “up there” to deal with. How can anything good out of this?  
A swig of whiskey and the double yellow line seems to jump and swerve in front of the car, then back. He can feel hot tears just behind his eyes, threatening to slip out. Yanking the wheel, he pulls over and flings himself out of the car.  
And then he’s running. Running in his boots and jeans and jacket. Running off the road, into a field, feeling the night dew soak the bottom of his jeans. He runs till he thinks he’ll collapse, and keeps going. Until his legs stop without his consent, and he falls to his knees, dry heaves racking his body.  
Pulling the gun he always has from the waistband of his jeans, he looks at it, staring at the moonlight reflecting off the barrel. He raises the gun, putting it into his mouth, tasting the metallic taste of metal on his tongue. Turning off the safety the tears finally come, and he collapses in on himself, his shaking hand still clutching the gun, a sick type of safety blanket. He tenses his finger, ready to pull the trigger, when the barrel turns white hot, and purely on instinct the gun falls from his hand.  
And then Cas is there, grabbing the dropped gun from the grass, and flinging it farther than he has any hope of retrieving it.  
Wordlessly he turns to Cas, not caring that in this moment he is completely vulnerable. Cas stares back, and in his eyes he sees more warmth and love than he can ever remember seeing.  
“I understand your hopelessness Dean, how alone you feel, but this is not the solution. Sam needs you, Bobby needs you,” and almost so quietly Dean might’ve thought it was merely the wind,  
“I need you.”  
With these words something shifts in Dean and a wave of exhaustion hits him.  
“No one ever told me that before” he mumbles, before he’s leaning against Cas, his eyes slowly shutting.  
“Just rest now Dean, I will be here when you wake up.”  
And he is. They have somehow moved to the impala, but as the sun shines and Dean opens his eyes he sees Cas there, watching him, just as he promised.


End file.
